The plaza was surrounded by massive buildings that reached up into the sky. Each was covered with plant life, some with green vines, others with flowering plants. Some had terraces that jutted out at odd angles with trees growing out of them while on others the plants cascaded down their sides like a waterfall.
Benches, or better said chairs, were scattered on the plaza seemingly at random, though they were different than anything Kepa had seen before. All were built with a back that was taller than a typical person, shaped almost like an egg shell. And they seemed to float above the stone. Kepa watched as a few people pushed some of the chairs around, rearranging them so that they faced one another in a circle before climbing in and engaging in conversation.
The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
“Over there,” said Kepa pointing to two isolated chairs. “Let’s sit for a minute.”
They walked across the plaza and turned the two floating chairs so that they were facing one another. As Kepa climbed into his, it automatically lowered to make sitting easier, and then rose again once he was nestled inside. He could feel warmth radiating from the surface, which also vibrated ever so slightly. He was about to surrender himself to sleep when Maite broke his meditation.
“Orain zer?” asked Maite, nestled into her own egg. “What now?”
Kepa shrugged, his eyes heavy from all of the excitement. “I guess we need to find Marina?”
Maite held up the dodecahedron that Marina had given her. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
“You know, it’s funny,” said Kepa. “When we time jump, we automatically get these identities and backstories to help us fit in, but we don’t get that much knowledge about the mundane things, like how things like that work.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
Maite nodded. “Neither do I. It’s almost like someone or something is making all of this up on the fly.”
There was an awkward pause as Maite and Kepa looked at each other.
Maite shook her head, as if to clear it. She held up the dodecahedron again, twirling it between her fingers, the points digging slightly into her fingertips. “I’ve tried squeezing it, rubbing the sides, looking for a seam, but I can’t find anything. It almost seems like a solid piece of metal.”
“Maybe we have to put it in something? You know, to activate it?”
Maite shrugged. “Maybe. But what?”
“Did you see those people disappearing in those flying eggs?” asked Kepa. “Maybe it tells those eggs where to go?”
Maite looked over at the edge of the plaza where a transparent egg had materialized after another had taken off. She shuddered. “Those things give me the creeps. Hurtling through the air in something that looks fragile as hell doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“They must be safe,” said Kepa. “Or people wouldn’t use them.”
“True, but I can’t even begin to understand how they might work. And that creeps me out.”
“What’s the saying? ‘Advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic?’ And, to be fair, we’ve seen real magic too.”
Maite sighed. “I guess. Just so much I don’t understand.”
Kepa laughed. “That’s how I feel most of the time.”
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.
“Echoes of two wars, 1936-1945” aims to disseminate the stories of those Basques and Navarrese who participated in two of the warfare events that defined the future of much of the 20th century. With this blog, the intention of the Sancho de Beurko Association is to rescue from anonymity the thousands of people who constitute the backbone of the historical memory of the Basque and Navarre communities, on both sides of the Pyrenees, and their diasporas of emigrants and descendants, with a primary emphasis on the United States, during the period from 1936 to 1945.
THE AUTHORS Guillermo Tabernilla is a researcher and founder of the Sancho de Beurko Association, a non-profit organization that studies the history of the Basques and Navarrese from both sides of the Pyrenees in the Spanish Civil War and in World War II. He is currently their secretary and community manager. He is also editor of the digital magazine Saibigain. Between 2008 and 2016 he directed the catalog of the “Iron Belt” for the Heritage Directorate of the Basque Government and is, together with Pedro J. Oiarzabal, principal investigator of the Fighting Basques Project, a memory project on the Basques and Navarrese in the Second World War in collaboration with the federation of Basque Organizations of North America.
Pedro J. Oiarzabal is a Doctor in Political Science-Basque Studies, granted by the University of Nevada, Reno (USA). For two decades, his work has focused on research and consulting on public policies (citizenship abroad and return), diasporas and new technologies, and social and historical memory (oral history, migration and exile), with special emphasis on the Basque case. He is the author of more than twenty publications. He has authored the blog “Basque Identity 2.0” by EITB and “Diaspora Bizia” by EuskalKultura.eus. On Twitter @Oiarzabal.
Josu M. Aguirregabiria is a researcher and founder of the Sancho de Beurko Association and is currently its president. A specialist in the Civil War in Álava, he is the author of several publications related to this topic, among which “La batalla de Villarreal de Álava” (2015) y “Seis días de guerra en el frente de Álava. Comienza la ofensiva de Mola” (2018) stand out.
Pete Cenarrusa passed away on September 29, 2013 at the age of 95 in Boise, Idaho. With him we lost possibly one of the last figures of his time to go down in history for his commitment to the Basque Country. The son of Bizkaian emigrants, Pete was a prominent Republican politician in the State of Idaho with an international profile like no other. He fought against both the Franco regime and advocated a peaceful resolution of the Basque conflict, based on the defense of human rights. Due to his involvement in Basque politics, he was demonized and ridiculed, even after his death, by the most extreme block of Spanish nationalism while, on the other hand, he was welcomed within Basque nationalism as one of their own.
Along with the brothers Paul and Robert Laxalt, Pete Cenarrusa was one of the most influential and well-known Basque-Americans in the United States, in the diaspora, and in Euskadi. In 1983 he was inducted into the “Basque Hall of Fame” of the Society for Basque Studies in America. In 2000, he was awarded the “Universal Basque” award by the Sabino Arana Foundation, and, in 2010, the Bizkaia Provincial Council bestowed upon him the “Illustrious Bizkaia” distinction.
Pete Thomas Cenarruza Gardoqui was born on December 16, 1917 in the small town of Carey in Blaine County, Idaho, the son of José María “Joe” Cenarruzabeitia (Cenarruza) Muguira and Ramona Gardoqui Bilbao. At the age of 17, in 1907, José, born in Arbatzegi in 1889, emigrated to the United States aboard the steamer Noordam. Other compatriots sailed along with him, including José Urberuaga, 20 years old and also a native of Arbatzegi; Domingo Arrizabalaga, 17, from Ereño; and Rosa Aldecoa, 24, from Navarniz, and her nephew José Iturri, who was only 4 years old, of Ispaster. Their final destination was Boise. They were all part of a Basque emigration trend that had begun decades earlier. Like the vast majority of Basque immigrants at that time, José began his working life in the sheep industry as a shepherd. In 1909 he was joined by his brother Pedro, born in 1891. Within a few years, with the money saved between the two, they were able to start their own sheep business in Wood River Valley, in the Carey area, settling in the city of Bellevue. José and Pedro were partners until 1935. In the midst of the Great Depression they separated, continuing their successful sheep-raising businesses until their respective retirements.
At the age of 23, Ramona Gardoqui Bilbao arrived in New York in 1914, her destination being the city of Shoshone, Idaho, a town where her cousin, Domingo Soloaga Arrasate, who had arrived in 1901, ran a Basque pension or boarding house. Ramona, born in Gernika in 1890, worked for Domingo as a cook until she met José during a stay at the pension. Shortly after they married, a union that produced five children: Nieves, Pete, Luis, Juanita, and Lucia.
Pete grew up in Bellevue, where he attended elementary and high school. Like many other children of Basque immigrants, Pete only spoke Basque when he first entered school. In 1936 he went to the University of Idaho, in Moscow, graduating in 1940 with a degree in agricultural science. During his time in college he competed with the varsity boxing team, being a member of the school’s first National Collegiate Boxing Champion team. He would continue to compete as a boxer during his service in the Marine Corps during World War II [1]. The possibilities offered by the United States, together with the effort and sacrifice of the emigrant generation, made possible, to a large extent, the educational and socioeconomic advancement of the first generation of Basques born in the country. This was the case with Pete.
Upon graduation, Pete got a job teaching high school (agriculture and chemistry) and coaching football, basketball, and boxing at Cambridge, Idaho during the 1940-1941 school year and then at Carey during the 1941-1942 school year. His family had moved to Carey. Patrick Bieter tells us how “Pete had always wanted to fly, had taken an Army Air Corps test [in 1940], and was reflecting upon the Nazi wildfire now threatening to destroy all of Europe. He wondered if the responsible thing to do was to enlist and be ready when the inevitable war broke out […] Pearl Harbor ended his turmoil. Pete went to the neighboring town of Twin Falls to enlist in the Army Air Corps on a Sunday shortly after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. The army office was closed and would reopen on Monday—a teaching day for Pete; he would not be free. He was informed that the navy recruiter was in Twin Falls and that he was available on Sundays. Pete volunteered to be a naval aviator.” [2]
Promoted to first lieutenant, Pete Cenarrusa spent his military career in the Marine Corps throughout WWII, and in the reserves until 1963 (photo courtesy of Freda Coates and the Basque Museum and Cultural Center, Boise).
After entering the Naval Aviation Corps as a cadet in July 1942, Pete received basic and advanced aviation training at Marine Corps barracks in Seattle and Pasco, Washington, and later Corpus Christi, Texas, popularly known as the “University of the Air.” There he received his pilot’s wings and was commissioned as a second lieutenant on April 16, 1943, into the Marine Corps Reserve (Naval Aviation Cadet) with a naval aviator designation. In December 1943, Pete was promoted to first lieutenant. At Air University, Pete was a flight instructor for naval aviation cadets for 18 months until October, 1944, at which time he was transferred first to the Naval Auxiliary Air Station at Cuddihy, Florida, and then to Jacksonville to train fighter pilots to fly Corsair fighter jets.
After completing the required carrier landings in an F-4U Corsair, which he performed on the aircraft carrier USS Wolverine on Lake Michigan, Pete was sent to Marine Corps Air Station El Toro, near Irvine, California, with maritime service orders, being assigned to the 462nd Fighter Squadron (VMF-462) of the 4th Wing of the Marine Corps.
He was later sent to Cherry Point, North Carolina, to transition to the SB2C Helldiver dive bomber, joining the 932nd Scouting Squadron (VMSB-932) of 9th Marine Aircraft Wing, Marine Aircraft Group 34, in preparation for the invasion of Japan. However, the dropping of the atomic bombs brought about the end of the war and he never saw action. In October 1945, Pete was with the 934th Marine Scouting Bombardment Squadron, Marine Aircraft Group 93, at Bogue, Morehead City, North Carolina.
In January 1946 he was back at Cherry Point with the 932nd Squadron. Pete “then went into the inactive reserve [as captain of the Marine Corps reserve in the spring of 1946], where he flew with VMF 216 Squadron [Marine Fighting Squadron 216] in Spokane, Washington until his retirement in July 1963 with the rank of Major. Pete,” continues Bieter, “followed as a private pilot who flew for 59 years without an accident. He logged over 15,000 hours of flight time, most of which were in the operation of his family business.” [3] His passion for and pride of flying, like that of many young people of his generation, kept him going throughout his life.
Pete Cenarrusa proudly displays a model of an F-4U Corsair, the plane that he flew during WWII and which hung from the ceiling of his office (Courtesy Idaho Statesman. April 15, 1997)
After the war, between 1948 and 1950, Pete worked for the Veterans Administration and for Idaho Vocational Education as an itinerant vocational agricultural teacher, teaching, on farms in rural Blaine County, military veterans who had returned from the war and needed classes in agriculture in southeastern Idaho. In his spare time, he gave flying lessons on a PT-26 aircraft, a war surplus plane he purchased after the war. One of his students, young Freda Coates, born in 1928 in Rupert, Idaho, to a sheep family, became his wife of 65 years. They had a son in 1948, whom they named Joe. He tragically passed away in a plane crash in 1997.
Between 1954 and 2000, Pete and Freda successfully ran their own sheep business with operations in Idaho, Nevada, Arizona, and California. In 1950 Pete entered politics, being elected a Representative of the Idaho House of Representatives. He served nine terms, three of which he was elected Speaker of the House. Beginning in 1967, he served as Idaho’s Secretary of State, a run that lasted for nearly 36 years. He retired in 2003. Bieter reminds us that, upon his retirement, Pete “was the longest serving State official in the history of the State of Idaho.” [4] He was replaced by his right-hand man, the Basque-American Benito “Ben” T. Ysursa, who held the position until 2015.
52 years ago, Pete began his own international political career by rallying political support in defense of 16 young Basques accused, among other crimes, of the murder of the policeman Melitón Manzanas and the civil guard José Pardines in 1968. The proceedings became known as the War Council of Burgos or the Burgos trials (December 3-9, 1970). His appeals led then-Governor Don Samuelson of Idaho to write Generalissimo Francisco Franco a letter of denunciation as well as a few hundred Boise Basques to send Franco a telegram rejecting the military trial. Shortly after, in 1971, Pete and his family visited the country of their ancestors for the first time. Pete would return shortly, in 1977. According to Bieter, upon his return to Idaho in 1971, Pete joined “Anaiak Danok,” a group dedicated to raising money for “Anai Artean” of Iparralde, whose objective was to help families of ETA members.
Meanwhile, Pete’s father passed away on October 27, 1972 in Hailey, Blaine County. Four months later, his mother also passed away. In 1972, Pete promoted the Idaho Joint Memorial No. 115, condemning Franco’s dictatorship while urging peace and democracy in Euskadi. Thirty years later, Pete was one of the promoters of Idaho Joint Memorial No. 114, which supported the Basque People’s right to self-determination, while calling for an end to ETA’s violence, as well as that carried out by the Spanish government.
Pete became the perfect host for the first delegations of the newly reinstated Basque Government. In 1988, Lehendakari José Antonio Ardanza made his first tour of the Basque communities of the American West, including Idaho, where he was received by Pete and then-Governor of the State, Cecil Andrus. Paul Laxalt, a close friend of President Ronald Reagan, arranged a meeting between him and Ardanza at the White House, which Pete also attended. It was possibly one of the greatest milestones in Basque foreign policy to date.
The video shows the meeting between Lehendakari Ardanza and President Reagan accompanied by Gloria Urteaga (Ardanza’s wife), Joseba Arregi, Pete Cenarrusa, Paul Laxalt, and Roy Eiguren, among others. (Reagan Library, March 21-22, 1988).
In 1994, on the occasion of the inauguration of the Basque American Foundation (among other objectives), predecessor of the Delegation of the Basque Government in the USA, Lehendakari Ardanza made a second trip to North America. Pete and Governor Andrus accompanied him to Washington DC where the creation of the foundation became official. On this trip, the Lehendakari had the opportunity to meet with US Vice President Al Gore at the White House.
In 2003, Pete and Freda established the Cenarrusa Center for Basque Studies (today the Cenarrusa Foundation for Basque Culture). In 2009, Pete wrote his memoir with Quane Kenyon, Bizkaia to Boise: The Memoirs of Pete T. Cenarrusa, which he published on his 92nd birthday. Pete was a member of the Euzkaldunak Basque Center in Boise.
The Basque diaspora and the State of Idaho lost an important and irreplaceable advocate with Pete’s death. He was buried with full military honors in Bellevue Cemetery where his parents and son are buried.
[1, 2, 3, 4] Bieter, Patrick J. (1999). “Pete Cenarrusa. Idaho’s Champion of Basque Culture,” in Richard Etulain and Jeronima Echeverria, Portraits of Basques in the New World. Reno: University of Nevada Press. Pp. 172-191.
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Who knew the Basque Country had a pioneer in skateboarding? Not me! Sancheski, based in Irun, Gipuzkoa, made the first skateboard in all of Europe in 1966. Like Orbea, the company had to reimagine itself when times got hard and new opportunities arose. Starting off as a ski company back in the 1930s, they shifted to skateboards in the 1960s and became an iconic brand.
Javier Sánchez y José María Sánchez holding one of their new surfskates and one of the original wooden Sancheskis. Photo from Expansión.
Sancheski started out as a company making outdoor sporting equipment, including skis (Sancheski=Sánchez, the founder of the company, + ski) back in 1934. The founder of the company, Francisco Sánchez Espinosa, was inspired by a group of visiting Norwegian engineers who brought the then novel sport of skiing Gipuzkoa, skiing on nearby Mount Aralar and even in the streets. Francisco saw an opportunity and opened his shop to cater to this new sport.
However, French and Austrian companies, subsidized by their governments, flooded the market, and Sancheski looked for a new direction. Taking inspiration from the west coast of the US, where skateboarding was beginning to take off, they adapted their equipment to start making skateboards, the first in 1966. The first commercial skateboards had only been made a few years earlier in 1959…
Skateboards were originally made so that surfers could get that same surfing experience out of the water, even on days when the water was calm. Thus, Sancheski took a slightly different route, going from skis to skateboards. However, as might be no surprise given the popularity of surfing in the Basque Country, they recently released a line of surfskates, skateboards meant to mimic, as much as possible, the feeling and motion of surfing on dry land.
Perhaps their most iconic skateboard is the Top Naranja. First made in the mid-1970s, this skateboard became extremely popular with children – it was the most sold skateboard in Spain in 1976 – and led to Sancheski becoming the official brand of Spanish skateboarding.
To help promote the new sport within Spain, the company set up a team to tour the country in the late 70s. Ricardo Damborenea, Iñaki Beloki, Pedro Aranzábal, Neme Rico, and Fernando Cortázar, among others, would head out in a 1967 Volkswagen bus and put on demonstrations at schools and city plazas to introduce the sport to a wider audience. They were also the testers of new boards produced by the company.
Until recently, the sons of Francisco, Javier Sánchez y José María Sánchez, kept the company going. José María’s daughters, Iciar and Mónica, continue the family tradition with technical and graphic design and now Iciar leads the company into the future.
“I’ll distract those things,” said Marina. “You two get out of here.” She handed Maite a small object. “Meet me here.”
“Non?” asked Maite, looking at the object in her hand. It looked like one of those die Dungeons and Dragons players used, except there were no markings on the faces. “How do we use this…?” she began, but Marina was already gone, rushing through the crowd, knocking people over as she dashed to the other side of the hall. The spheres, red lights flashing and reflecting against the ceiling and walls, gave chase.
The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
“Orain!” hissed Kepa. “Now! Goazen!”
Kepa grabbed Maite’s hand and pulled her through the door and into the hall. Scanning the room, he noticed a large entryway that seemed to lead to a tunnel. People were flowing in and out of the opening. Marina had gone in the opposite direction, drawing the spheres away.
“This way!” he said, tugging on Matie’s arm. “It must be the exit.”
They weaved their way through the crowd, deliberately trying not to bump into too many people to avoid a scene and draw the attention of the spheres. They heard a crash behind them. Turning, they saw Marina at the far end of the hall, standing on a table or something, smashing one of the floating monitors. The spheres were converging on her.
Kepa stopped. “We have to help her!”
“Ez!” barked Maite. “Marina will be fine. Her vessel…” Maite shrugged. “She knows what she is doing.”
The crowd had begun drifting toward the end of the hall where Marina was making a scene. Kepa and Maite continued to make their way upstream, toward the exit. Reaching the large circular opening, they stepped on a sparkling white conveyor belt that took them out of the hall.
“Are you sure she’ll be ok?” asked Kepa.
Maite nodded as she looked at the small dodecahedron in her hand. “We just need to figure out where we are supposed to go.”
The conveyor belt took them through a glass tunnel through which they could see outside. The strange buildings, with their organic shapes that seemed to meld with trees and vines, towered over them. The tunnel above them ended as the conveyor belt dumped them onto a small plaza. The ground seemed to be made of solid stone rather than the bricks or concrete they were used to from their time. People rushed around them, moving in all directions. Kepa watched as one particularly large man approached what looked like to him a large, human-sized egg. The man simply walked through the shell and moments later the egg shot into the sky, carrying the man with it. Another egg seemed to form out of nothing to take its place.
Kepa shook his head. “Can we find somewhere to sit down a moment?”
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.
The late 1700s were a turbulent time for Europe, with the United States declaring independence and Napoleon trying to conquer the continent. It was also a time in which scientific enlightenment was crescendoing, leading to many people having both distinguished military and political careers as well as making important contributions to science. According to Julio Caro Baroja, Cosme Damián de Churruca, a sailor from Gipuzkoa, symbolized “in a most perfect way the studious and hard-working life of the sailor with scientific affinities.”
Cosme Damián de Churruca y Elorza was born on September 27, 1761, to Francisco de Churruca and María Teresa de Elorza in Mutriku, Gipuzkoa, very close to where the Bizkaian-Gipuzkoan border hits the Atlantic Ocean. He was born to a noble family and, as the third son, was destined for a life away from home (his eldest brother inherited the family property while the second became a priest). He himself studied to be a priest as well, but during his schooling a passion for the life of a sailor was awakened within him. He wasn’t the first of his family to become a sailor – his ancestor Antonio de Gaztañeta had blazed that trail before him.
As he studied to become a naval officer, his interest in science and math also grew. In particular, he noted and envied the knowledge of the big sea-faring nations, writing to his father that he wished that he knew English and French since all of the great books were written in those languages and bemoaning the fact that he could not find such books on “arithmetic, geometry, trigonometry, cosmography, geography, astronomy, algebra, tactics, navigation, maneuvering, artillery or drawing” where he was. He later studied algebra, calculus, and mechanics, achieving the top place in his class.
In 1788, along with Ciriaco de Ceballos, he was sent to the Strait of Magellan to complete mapping the region. They studied sea currents, winds, and the topography of the strait, both for a more basic understanding of the area as well as to enhance the commercial and political benefits of the strait. He was also involved in the completion of the Atlas of North America. Based on the island of Trinidad, he spent three and a half years directing expeditions to map the region.
In 1805, he married María Dolores Ruiz de Apodaca, niece of Juan Ruiz de Apodaca. Only a few months later, he found him self in the Battle of Trafalgar, part of the combined Spanish and French fleets fighting the British in the War of the Third Coalition of the Napoleonic Wars. This battle, off the southern coast of Spain, was decisive in thwarting Napoleon‘s plans to invade Britain and was one of Britain’s greatest naval victories but cost them the life of Horatio Nelson. Under Churruca’s command, the San Juan Nepomuceno found itself alone in a fight with six British ships. Churruca ordered that the ship’s colors be nailed to the mast, meaning that they would fight to the end. The ship fought admirably, but Churruca took a cannonball to the leg and died. The British displayed his ship in Gibraltar for several years. His enemies so admired his bravery and skill that, when they captured his ship, they demanded that anyone entering his cabin remove their hat, as if he were still alive. His name was emblazoned with gold letters above his cabin.
During his life, in addition to publishing many cartographic works, he published a manual on military instruction aboard his ship, another on the geometric analysis of the keel of broken ships, and a manual on marksmanship. He served briefly as mayor of Mutriku. In remembrance of their native son, a statue was raised in Mutriku in the late 1800s.
“Zer?!?” exclaimed Maite. “De Lancre is here too?”
Marina, or at least the woman whom Marina was possessing, nodded her head. “Bai. And he’s been here a while. He’s somehow worked himself up in the government. He’s an advisor to the lehendakari.”
“The Lehendakari?” asked Kepa. “We still have our own president?”
The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
Marina nodded again. “Yes, though it’s a bit more complicated than that. I’ll fill you in later but, first, we need to get you out of here.”
“What’s the rush?” asked Maite.
“I assume you saw all of the video screens and cameras out there?” responded Marina. “I’m sure de Lancre is watching and he’ll be sending his thugs after you.”
“How would he know it is us?” asked Kepa as he looked down at his near-naked form, blushing again. “My own mother wouldn’t know it was us.”
Marina shook her head. “I’m not sure. But, he always seems to be one step ahead of me in this time.”
“Hold on a minute,” said Maite as Marina was about to open the door. “How did you find us so fast?”
Marina smiled. “I knew I would like you,” she said. “You are always thinking, always questioning.” She paused a moment. “The zatiak. The ones you already absorbed? They act as a beacon for me.”
“And you just happened to be right here when we arrived?” questioned Maite.
“Well, no,” admitted Marina. “But, in this future, the number of descendants of my blood line are quite extensive. Even a drop of blood lets me inhabit them and this one happened to be here, near where the beacon, and you, popped up.”
“Won’t de Lancre be able to find us the same way?” asked Kepa.
Marina shook her head. “Ez. This is a special connection between you and me, because of those first zatiak I gave you. If he were able to find me in the same way, I’d be able to sense him too. And a number of our encounters would have turned out completely differently.”
Marina opened the door, just a crack. “Arraioa! Damn it! They are already here.”
Kepa peaked out the door as Marina stepped back. He could see several black spheres hovering over the crowd, moving randomly back and forth, pinpricks of laser light shooting from every angle of their surface, touching every person in the large hallway.
“What are they doing?” asked Kepa.
“Scanning the room, looking for anomalies,” replied Marina.
“Wait a minute,” interjected Maite. “How are we anomalies? When we arrive in these bubbles, we take on a local identity, right? We effectively belong in this time. They won’t know the difference.”
Marina sighed. “But, he knows you are here. Somehow he knows. I don’t know how, but he always knows.”
“However he knows,” interrupted Kepa, “those balls are coming this way.”
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.
Though my dad grew up in Bizkaia, because I lived in Donostia when I spent my year abroad in the Basque Country, I never really got to know the capital of his home province. Bilbo always seemed a bit foreboding, a bit too big for me to grasp during a day excursion. Of course, I’ve wandered the Casco Viejo and took in the Guggenheim. (I took my dad’s sisters there once. When we left, I asked what they thought and they shrugged. “The frames were nice.”) My friend Aitor even took us to see the “cathedral” – San Mamés, where Athletic Bilbao plays – though I still haven’t seen them play myself. However, I’ve never really gotten to know the city, despite its central importance to Basque history and economy.
A view of Bilbo from Monte Artxanda, taken from Wikimedia.
Bilbo is the Basque spelling of the more familiar Bilbao. In the letter of its founding, back in 1300, the city is referred to as Biluao. Bilbo as the spelling dates back to at least 1794. Though the origins of the name are debated, with multiple theories, one possibility is that it comes from the words bilbe ‘weave’ and aho ‘boca,’ meaning something like the ‘the mouth, the entrance of the weave,’ referring to how the streams of the original site weaved together. Around 1600, Shakespeare used the word ‘bilbo‘ to refer to a sword – inspired by Bizkaian iron – in one of his plays, suggesting that it was a common word at the time.
By the 12th century, a center of population had grown up around what is today Bilbo, built around the monasteries, such as Begoña. The city proper was founded in 1300 by Diego López V de Haro, though there is some evidence suggesting a previous, but failed, founding of a city in the same location. In 1310, López de Haro’s niece, María Díaz I de Haro, refounded the city, strengthening its commercial position by making it a required stop for traffic from Castile. In 1602, Bilbo was made the capital of Bizkaia, a position previously held by Bermeo.
The city became the economic heart of the Basque Country in the 18th and 19th centuries, a time that saw the railroad arrive in the city, the Bank of Bilbao founded, and the Bilbao Stock Exchange begin. Steelmaking was one of the key industries of the city. In just the 20 years from 1880 to 1900, the city’s population grew from 11,000 to 80,000.
The city also saw a great deal of conflict. It was besieged during the First and Third Carlist Wars, as well as the Spanish Civil War. It was also bombed during the Spanish Civil War, with at least 100 bombs dropped on September 25, 1936. After the Civil War, a huge amount of immigration from other parts of Spain fed the developing economy, often leading to poor conditions for workers and the development of social movements in response.
Beginning in 1861, Bilbo began annexing nearby neighborhoods, beginning with Abando and Begoña. It continued to grow, absorbing more nearby localities: Deustu, Uribarri, Otxarkoaga-Txurdinaga, Casco Viejo, Rekalde, and Basurtu-Zorrotza. These now form various districts within Bilbo.
Bilbo was built on mining, steel manufacturing, and shipbuilding. However, by the mid 1980s, the so-called “Great Crisis” took its toll, with Bizkaia and Gipuzkoa having the highest unemployment in all of Europe. Some of the historic companies of greater Bilbo closed their doors. Further, Bilbo was simply dirty, a consequence of all of that industry. However, governments across various levels undertook a revitalization plan, which included the restructuring of the port, the construction of the Metro, and the demolition of industrial ruins.
This revitalization is perhaps no better symbolized than by the Guggenheim Museum, which opened in 1997 on the grounds of the old port. Designed by Frank Gehry, it was first criticized as the “McDonaldization” of culture. However, even some of its most ardent critics have come to recognize the revitalizing force that the museum and the related efforts brought to the city.
Kepa threw his arms around the taller woman. “Am I glad to see you!” he said. “I didn’t want to have to do another one of these alone.”
Maite gave him a cold stare.
“You know what I mean,” said Kepa. “Alone, just the two of us. It would be nice to have more help this time.”
The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
Maite sighed. “I know what you mean. And, yes, it would be nice to have more help.”
“Which Maite and Kepa are you?” asked Marina.
“What do you mean?” asked Kepa.
“Ah,” interjected Maite before turning to Kepa. “We’re in the future, right?” Kepa nodded. “Well, while for us, this is our third bubble, for Marina it could be our hundredth. She’s probably encountered other versions – future versions – of us in other bubbles.”
Marina nodded. “We’ve had, or will have, a number of adventures together.”
“Oh,” replied Kepa. “I guess that makes sense, but it’s all so damn confusing.” He then turned back to Marina. “How are we doing in the future?”
“Like I told you at the beginning,” replied Marina, “we can’t know what happens to our own history before it happens to us. I’ve certainly seen future versions of you, that much I remember. But what I saw, that part has faded away.”
“So,” mused Maite, her hand stroking the pink and green fur that covered her chin, “when we are done with this bubble, we’ll know we were in the future, we’ll know if we were successful in finding the zatia, but we won’t know the details?”
Marina nodded. “Bai. You’ll remember your interactions with me and de Lancre, at least impressions of them. But, you won’t remember any details about this time. It’s as if time itself is protecting itself from any kind of… what’s the word?”
“Paradox,” inserted Maite. “Otherwise, the time stream itself might break, if we were able to learn things in the future that we could use to change the past.”
“Precisely,” said Marina with a smile. “I have to say, recruiting you two has been one of the best things I’ve done since all of this started.”
“So what now?” asked Kepa. “Do you know where the zatia is?”
Marina shook her head. “Ez, not yet. But neither does de Lancre.”
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.
It’s Super Bowl Sunday, the culmination of the National Football League’s season, which saw star quarterbacks like Tom Brady, Patrick Mahomes, Kyler Murray, and Dak Prescott light up the field (yeah, these last two are on my fantasy football team, so I might be biased; and I’m rooting for the Bengals!). However, there’s another league, a bit further to the north, in which the son of Basque sheepherders was once the brightest star. He is one of the greatest to ever play in the Canadian Football League: Sam “The Rifle” Etcheverry.
Sam Etcheverry, quarterback for the Montreal Alouettes. Photo from the Toronto Star.
Sam “The Rifle” Etcheverry was born on May 20, 1930 in Carlsbad, New Mexico. His parents were Jean Baptiste “Jim” and Florence (nee Arreguy) Etcheverry, Basque sheep ranchers. Jim had been born in Urepel, Nafarroa Beherea. Born in Texas, Florence’s father was from Anhaux, Nafarroa Beherea, and her mother was from Mexico.
Sam attended high school in Carlsbad and, upon graduation, went to the University of Denver. He still holds many of the passing records for the Denver Pioneers. But, his career really shined when he joined the Montreal Alouettes of the Canadian Football League (then known as the Interprovincial Rugby Football Union) in 1952.
In Montreal, he was named an all-star six times and once was awarded the Schenley Award for most outstanding player of the Canadian Rugby Union. He once passed for 586 yards in a game, in 1954, a single-game passing record that stood for 39 years. He led the CFL in passing for six years and was the first professional quarterback in any league to throw for more than 4,000 yards. He took his team to the Grey Cup, the Canadian version of the Super Bowl, 3 times, losing each time to Edmonton. However, his 508 yards in the 1955 Grey Cup still stands as the record.
When he was traded to the Hamilton Tiger-Cats in 1960, he opted instead to leave the CFL and join the National Football League, playing two years with the-then St. Louis Cardinals. However, he didn’t receive much playing time and in 1963 asked to be released from his contract.
In 1964, he returned to Canada, this time as head coach of the Quebec Rifles of the United Football League. After that league folded, he coached at the college level for a couple of years before being hired as the coach of the Alouettes. In his first season as coach, he took his team to the Grey Cup, where they beat Calgary in horrid conditions. He coached a few more years before retiring after the 1972 season.
The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!
Without waiting, the figure strode through the crowd. Maite looked at Kepa who simply shrugged. They took off after the figure, who was weaving and dodging the various people in front of it almost as if it anticipated where they would be. Maite and Kepa had a hard time keeping up, but at least the figure was easily discerned in the large crowd. The figure stopped in front of a large metal door and, after a moment’s pause, opened it.
“Get inside,” hissed the figure again.
With a wary look at Kepa, Maite entered what was a small room. A table sat in the middle, with chairs on either side. It looked like some kind of interrogation room, which made Maite nervous. There was no obvious source of light, no bulbs or fixtures, but the whole room seemed to glow.
She turned to the figure as it closed the door behind them. “Look,” she began, “we haven’t done anything…”
Before she could finish, the cloth that shrouded the figure somehow rolled up into the wide hat above it, revealing the figure of a beautiful woman. Dark sunglasses hid her eyes. Long hair that had streaks of every color of the rainbow cascaded down and across her shoulders, framing her face, falling almost to her waist. She wore a sleek white jacket that seemed like it was made of leather, with silver accents that made the colors of her hair stand out in contrast. Her pants were a dark black that reflected the light from the room, dancing across her body and accentuating her muscles as she moved. She wore black gloves and white boots.
She reached up and took off her glasses, revealing blue, almost completely pale, eyes.
“I’m glad I found you so fast,” began the woman.
“Found us?” exclaimed Maite. “You were expecting us?”
“More hoping that you would come,” said the woman.
Maite saw Kepa staring at the woman, his eyes glued to her body, his face scrunched up in thought. She sighed, wondering if he ever stopped thinking about…
Before she could complete her thought, she heard Kepa ask “Marina?”
The woman smiled. “Bai. It’s good to see you two.”
If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.
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